


you're playing with matches and i have a paper heart

by handgrenadeheathen



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Band, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Slurs, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-22 02:24:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7415881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handgrenadeheathen/pseuds/handgrenadeheathen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh didn't think loving someone could taste like blood.</p><p>ig: anathemaphobia</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. high on the thought of you

**Author's Note:**

> i highly recommend you read my other work, his kisses feel like a kick to the teeth, before this one!!! it'll explain a bit more :-)  
> updates will vary in speed, but it usually takes me 1-3 days to write a chapter, however short or long it may be. speaking about chapter length, this is basically just the starter for everything. next chapters will be a lot longer!!! comments and kudos are appreciated.  
> (i start writing at 1 AM, and my streak usually lasts until then to about 4 to 6 AM. im very sleep deprived. im doing this for you.)

Tyler is typing...  
Tyler: johs  
Tyler: jos h  
Tyler: meet Me at tthe park  
Tyler: you knwo which one  
Tyler: pleasde  
Sent at 2:21 AM.  
Read at 2:23 AM.

When Josh unlocks his phone and reads the texts, he's high. Dizzy on dreams and two bottles of cough syrup. It's chalky, goes down his throat cool and thick. It makes him feel good, like how Tyler made him feel.

Nothing can make him forget. Forget about him.

Fuck.

Tyler is typing...  
Tyler: i nee d you rigth n ow  
Tyler: im drunk an d all i can think abuot i s you  
Tyler: pleas e  
Tyler: pleasej oshy i cnwt do this anymor e i fuckign i ne ed you i want you  
Sent at 2:23 AM.  
Read at 2:23 AM.

Josh knows Tyler doesn't need him. He needs his dick. He needs his lips. He needs his body. He needs his sex. He wants his envy, his malice, his attention. 

They said they wouldn't do this, not anymore. They fought and screamed and cried. Tyler hit him, called him disgusting, called him an abomination. Called him a faggot, told him that he was going to hell. Said Josh was sick, mental, ill. Said Josh raped him. Said this was Josh's fault. Josh screamed right back, raw and full of anger, lacking the hatred he couldn't project. Told him he's taking him down with him. Made a remark about having a threesome with the Devil, and that's where Tyler lost it.

Tyler kicked him, a blow to his ribs, and it was a good kick. Broke a rib, actually; Josh is so proud his baby boy stood up for himself. So strong, destroyed everything around him, broke Josh down until he was on his knees, apologizing, shaking and sobbing and begging him not to leave because he still loves him. Tyler's reply was a kick to the face, and Josh never knew loving someone could taste like blood, the blood running from his nose into his teeth and down his chin to stain the carpet and his hands. Tyler wiped his tears and told him, "Never again." 

They hadn't talked since. That'd been a good seven months ago; Josh is so proud Tyler made it this far avoiding him, made it this far building himself back up again, making himself happy again, but Josh knew he'd come back. Put another ex on the calendar. True love is on it's deathbed, and so is Josh's dignity.

Does he really want to destroy all Tyler's progress in making himself feel alright? He should stay home, let Tyler give up on each other and not fuck anything else up. He should stay where he is, in bed, curled up, high and content. Stay where he can see himself, don't move. For God's sake, don't move.

Josh is typing...  
Josh: I'll be there.  
Sent at 2:34 AM.  
Read at 2:34 AM.

But he just can't get enough.


	2. "you're my bitch."

The walk to the park would usually take him ten minutes, but it takes him twenty with the way he's finding every possible excuse to stall himself. Every passing moment spikes his anxiety level up another notch until it's to the point where he's suffocating. He's smoking every cigarette to the filter, burning himself every time but he can't feel it, can't feel anything. He just wants to go home.

He contemplates going with what his head is telling him, his mind a constant buzz of, "Turn back, turn back, turn back." There's nothing he wants more than to just follow those directions. Cut the anchor off that's dragging him down and abandon ship, find refuge in a cab on the way back, and he sways to the side of the road as he sees headlights; he considers flagging it down, but then the park comes into view and he's too busy focused on it than his escape plan, which drives by and showers him with water.

He squints through the rain, searching, sifting, sourcing... His lungs fill with cement when his eyes land on his anchor. Rusted. Chained. Dragging Josh down into the sea, and the only coherent thing he can think of is how the streetlight Tyler is sitting under illuminates him perfectly. He looks so beautiful. So angelic. So gorgeous. Josh is so in love and he's drowning and he knows it.

The wind picks up in that moment, bringing more rain with it, and he notices Tyler is soaked from head to toe, shuddering violently. His arms are wrapped around his middle in a feeble attempt to keep himself warm. His clothes, a pair of black skinny jeans and a gray V-neck, stick to his frame. All Josh can think about is how he wants to take him to someplace heated, strip him, get on top of him, touch that tan skin. He wants to fuck him until the air is too hot. He wants his smile and his laugh. He wants to kiss those pretty lips. He wants to hear those sounds, force them out of him. Choke him. Bruise him. Bite him.

He's having withdrawals.

Josh watches, still stuck dead in his tracks, as the other boy reaches down and grabs a bottle sitting by his side. He raises it to his lips, those pretty, kissable lips, and takes a long drink. Josh's eyes are trained on the whiskey. Tyler's eyes are trained on Josh.

Their gazes meet. Josh's breath hitches. His heart is in his throat. Tyler sets the drink aside, stares him down. His heart is dead. Gray. Useless. Just like the boy himself.

Time seems to stand still when the gears start turning again. Copper clockwork leading him to his light and his dark, his angel and his demon. All in the form of a skinny, shaking, wasted void of a teenager. He doesn't greet him. Doesn't touch him in the slightest, even when he wants to in so many ways, his imagination running wild, but he won't. He wouldn't dare.

They sit together in silence. Josh takes the whiskey in hand and timidly takes a drink; it burns his throat and it's horrible, but it can't compare to how it feels to sit beside the boy he loves and, coincidentally, the boy who hates him. A stunningly tragic combination. 

Neither of them know how much time passes between the two. The sound of the downpour keeps them company as Tyler gets drunker, the air gets colder, and the pain gets number. Josh's head is spinning and he's dizzy again, the effects of the cough syrup and the nicotine high waging it's war on his wasted body. He takes another drink and tries to forget.

At one point, he runs out of cigarettes, his hands shaking and pale; skeletal. Tyler runs out of whiskey soon after. Silence runs out of nothing.

It's only when the rain begins to cease, if only by a fraction, when Tyler speaks. Won't look his way. Won't you guess my name?

"Do you want to fuck me?" 

His voice is quiet, almost inaudible against the backdrop of silver and blue. He sounds as scared as Josh is, but it's not as visible. Tyler won't let his emotions show. He's so smart. Josh is so stupid.

"It's..." he starts. Everything is shaking, and then he realizes it's himself. "I-It's more than... that." 

Tyler's reply is delayed. Josh regrets everything. He regrets answering. He regrets agreeing on coming. He regrets meeting him. He regrets being alive. He wants to go home and forget; his hands itch for a cigarette. Or a knife. 

Tyler's eyes meet his for the first time in seven months. He faces fear straight on. Josh envies how he can conceal so easily. 

"Do you still love me?" He croaks. Josh bites his lip and clears his throat.

"Yes." he answers. Painfully immediate. Softly. Sadly.

"Even after all the things I said?" He presses. "After how I hurt you? You still want me?"

"I love you, Tyler." Josh is still shaking and he knows it's not because of the cold. He's daunted, nervous. He's always been nervous around Tyler, even when he was pinned to the mattress with his throat grasped in his hand, under his complete control, to do whatever he wanted. Always intimidated. Always intimate. "I would do anything you want. I would let you kill me. I would let you hurt me. I already have. And I still love you."

Tyler's leg bounces. He licks his lips. Chews at the skin. Looks away. Anywhere but at Josh. Energy, energy, energy. "You love me, even when I hated you." he summarizes. "You'd let me do anything to you, whatever I wanted. You're my..."

Josh cocks his head as he trails off. "I'm your what?" He asks, barely a whisper. He's clutching onto sanity.

The wind picks up. Tyler licks his lips again. "You'd do anything?" he repeats, letting Josh's question go unanswered.

The other teenager nods warily, and watches for the third time as Tyler's tongue flicks out to wet his lips before he sucks the bottom one between his teeth. His heart drops as he watches a ghost of a smile creep onto his mouth. 

They lock eyes. His voice is low and thick when he speaks. It makes Josh sick to his stomach. "I want you to fuck me again."

"O-oh."

Tyler sits up straighter, crawls into Josh's lap and tries to kiss him. His eyes are tenebrous when he licks into his mouth; Josh turns his head away. He doesn't seem offended. This is so different from the usual Tyler; it's the whiskey. "Do it hard." he commands. "Really hard, and fast. Please. It's what I want. It's what I want you to do. You said you'd do anything. Are you a liar?"

Josh licks his lips; He's all sorts of emotions. He's surprised. He's sick. He's abused, but what did Josh expect when he came here, walking twenty minutes in the rain, at night, on the bad side of the worst part of town? Did he expect an apology? A reciprocation of love? Fuck no, what Tyler wants is sex. All he wants is dick, because Tyler is a selfish whore and that's all he'll ever be. Won't even consider bisexuality as an option. No, no, no; Tyler's completely straight. He's completely straight when he takes a cock up the ass in the safety of night where no one could find out, and he's completely straight when he moans about how much he loves it. He's honest, too, or else he wouldn't come back for more. He's doing it right now. The nerve.

Tyler is a cock slut. He doesn't love Josh. Just his dick. Just the way he can work his fingers. Just the way he pets his hair. Just the way he makes him feel.

And the older of the two is angry, like he should be. He's sad. He's nervous, but most of all, he's violated. He's used. He's degraded. He feels incomplete. He feels invalid.

And he still loves Tyler. He still loves the boy who broke him down, who hurt him in so many ways, who came into his life and made it better, and then fucked it up and left. And here he is, back again, asking to be let in just so he can fuck it up like he always will.

And then, after a moment of expectation, Josh opens the door and lets him back in, out of the rain and into the hurricane. He's stupid. He wants to die. And he's in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've rewritten this four times because I didn't know how to start this and i still don't want to post it because i don't like it??  
> thank you adrian (whereisyourmeme on ig) for putting up with my shit and helping me out on this  
> tell me if you want more and what you think, and leave kudos if you like it or if you want to make me feel better aha


	3. "dear rabbit." theyoungheretics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear Rabbit,  
> My legs are getting weak chasing you.  
> The snow fields wouldn't seem so big if you knew that this blood on my teeth is far beyond dry, and I've captured you once but it wasn't quite right, so I'm telling you that you'll be safe with me.  
> Rabbit, my claws are dull now, so don't be afraid, I could keep you warm as long as you can just try to be brave.  
> Yes, I know I'm a wolf, and I've been known to bite, but the rest of my pack I have left them behind, and my teeth may be sharp and I've been raised to kill, but the thought of fresh meat is making me ill, so I'm telling you that you'll be safe with me.  
> So Rabbit? Please stop looking the other way...  
> It's cold out there, so why not stay here under my tail...?

They wave down a cab as soon as they can, and Josh almost snaps out his address to the very concerned looking driver who seems quite offended at his tone. He seems to understand his stress though, so he nods and faces forward and tries not to notice the way Tyler keeps leaning over to whisper into Josh's ear and the blush that blossoms across his pale cheeks when he pulls away. Josh focuses on the rain rolling across the window and not on Tyler's fingers pressing into his pulse on his wrist, not on the hand that creeps it's way between his thighs, not on the hickey Tyler is sucking into his throat. He focuses on the lightning and thunder and presses his nails into his palm. The entire ride his nerves are on fire, almost shaking, wants to throw himself out onto the street, wants to tell Tyler 'no, not this time' and leave and never come back, but he won't. He'll stay put, and sit pretty for the only person he won't deny.

He's stupid. He knows it. He just doesn't care.

When they pull up beside his house, Josh hands the driver a wad of damp tens, way more than the actual fee, but he can't focus on anything else but the warmth Tyler is gifting his skin with, his hand now finding its way up his shirt and stroking across his abdomen. The baffled driver leaves them in the rain to stumble their way up the sidewalk and into the empty house.

The door slams shut behind them, bouncing back into the frame loudly, and if the house had been silent, Josh may have jumped at the noise, but it wasn't; Tyler's mouth has been running since the park, his breath blowing across his face and smelling like whiskey, hands pushing and groping and for the first time, Josh hesitates. He wants Tyler to hate him again.

He wants the person he loves to hate him; that's fucked up. Even when he said those things to him that night, when he broke him down into a shattered shell of a human, hurt him, beat him, and replied to his strangled pleas and _I love you_ with a bloody nose and a broken rib and one hundred sleepless nights; and Josh would prefer that over Tyler being in his bed again, under his control. He woke up every day for seven months, wishing that today would be the day he had Tyler back. And now it's finally happening, and Josh wants to be dead.

 _Ironic_ , he thinks, _and depressing_ ,but he lets him push him upstairs, into his bedroom and onto the mattress, and he lets him kiss him until neither of them can breathe. He lets himself lay, straddled by Tyler's thighs and suffocated by his lips, and he doesn't protest when Tyler's hands start fumbling drunkenly with his belt. He only reaches over to the dresser and fumbles with a cigarette and a lighter.

By the time he has it lit, Tyler's hooking his fingers under his waistband and tugging his jeans and briefs down to mid-thigh, and then looking up at him with that one look, or maybe that's just his face when he's slammed. Josh wouldn't know; he's never seen him at parties or anywhere he could get properly wasted because Josh has never seen him anywhere outside school or the confinements of his bedroom walls. For better or for worse, neither can tell.

"What?" he asks, and it's strange to talk in such a quiet room, only them and the white noise. Tyler keeps quiet, reaches up and puts out his cigarette in the ashtray.

"That stuff will kill you," Is all he says, licks his palm and then puts it on Josh's dick, but instead of a gasp or a whine, Josh laughs dryly because he can't get over how Tyler is acting like he cares what Josh does to himself, to his body. On top of cigarettes, there's the pot. At the two month mark, he tried a line of coke for the first time which turned into days where he sat on his couch and wasted his money and his health on the curly-haired drag queen perched on the corner in front of the liquor store. Matty's a good dealer. Hooks him up and understands more than anyone does even if they exchange no more than small talk, a baggie and cash. Matty won't leave him like Tyler did. He voices this. His voice sounds like gravel. "My drug dealer is more dependable than you are."

Tyler smiles blankly like he's just heard a bad joke, but it's forced and Josh can see he's hurt by that comment. He feels proud, but then he's stabbed with the realization that the bad joke is actually Josh. Accidents happen.

Since Josh wants to die so bad, maybe he'll bring out the tray tonight, share it with Tyler and overdose just to have the satisfaction of hearing Tyler say his name that wasn't a demand or a moan, scream at him and shake him and pretend he actually cares. They both know that once his pulse finally slows to a stop, Tyler will leave and find someone else.

Tyler is killing him faster than the drugs, Josh realizes, and he's morbidly infatuated with the fact that he's one hundred percent okay with that, wants to engrave it on his headstone. "Killed by Tyler Joseph and was fine with it."

He smiles dismissively, kisses Tyler again, softer this time, and Tyler stops jacking him to sit back in confusion because he thought they were going to fuck and this is obviously about to head somewhere else. Josh leans forward, all syrupy and slow and weighted, and laughs into his ear. He can feel the younger teenager shiver.

"If I gave you a knife and told you to stab me, what would you do?" The ground and the sky are beginning to look like identical twins. Self-esteem and ego are starting to switch places.

"I don't know."

He's honest, Josh can tell, but he thinks that maybe, if given motive and momentum, he'd do what Josh wants. He wonders if his body would look better covered in his own blood, if Tyler would find him more attractive. It's only his opinion that matters. "What if I want you to kill me?"

"I wouldn't kill you."

"You're doing it right now." He says sharply, but mutually dull. "You don't seem to notice though. You're oblivious," He smiles, but it's dead and pathetic. Like _himself._ "I don't... I don't know how to feel about that yet."

Tyler doesn't answer. Josh doesn't press him for a reply. Didn't he take something earlier? Is he high? He can't tell. All he can focus on is tan skin, crooked teeth, brown eyes, Tyler, Tyler, Tyler.

Tyler is still sitting at the edge of the bed with glassy eyes and his eyebrows furrowed in concern or confusion or both; can't hear himself breathe. It takes a moment, but Josh comes back to reality, leans over and kisses him again, trying to rid his memory of whatever bullshit he's said. He can't remember. He can't remember anything these days. _Focus on his lips._

The other boy seemingly puts the conversation behind him, his kisses hesitant and slow, but they sit there and make out for a little while because he's sort of doubting Josh's mental stability and wants to make him feel a little better. He still wants what he came for though, and it wasn't Josh's kisses, so it's only a few moments longer before he breaks away, moving back on the bed and taking a moment to rid himself of his shirt before bowing his head and taking his dick into his mouth. Josh has been slipping out of conscious mind for a while, gasps at the contact, and then zones out. Spirals into space, lets the void take care of him. Maybe he should call Tyler by his name. Void is more fitting.

Josh's subconscious likes to think about Tyler a lot, and given that, Josh subdued Him as best as he could, but now He's in control and there's nothing Josh can think of other than the stupid straight boy whose mouth is on his dick. The stupid straight boy he used to call him home, because home to him was glittering brown eyes, smiley crooked teeth and golden skin. That's what home still is. A little less gold and a little more broken. A little less smile and a little more abusive. A little less glitter and a little more, "Touch me." And the worst part is Josh won't run away. He'll get sexual. He'll get high. He'll kill himself a little faster than he already wants to as long as it makes Tyler satisfied.

He'll still call the stupid straight boy _home_. When the dog whistle blows, he'll come running up to the rickety porch like a beaten hound on a choke chain, scratching at the screen door with bleeding nails and a fucking wolf will greet him and pull him in and tear him to shreds until he's bleeding and near dead on the bloodslick hardwood floor. And he'll be back the next day, rolling over on his back and letting it happen over and over again. Call it truce, call it love, call it suicide. Addiction.

Time starts to blend together; where did the rest of their clothes go? It's too dark to check the ground, but he wouldn't be able to look away if he wanted to, eyes stuck on skin turned pale in the moonlight. They lock eyes, Tyler's head tilted, showing off his throat, purple hickeys blooming across his collar, lips red and slick, and then Josh knows why he goes back to the wolf everyday. 

He leans in and kisses him, rough and uncoordinated, and Tyler kisses back before the older pulls away, incoherent mumbles spilling from his mouth. Neither of them want to know what he says.

"How many?" Josh asks, lube in hand. Preparation is important. Tyler hates it. Sort of loves it at the same time.

"None," he replies, looking away with a blush that Josh matches. _Oh._ "Handled it at home."

He wants to insult him in that moment. Degrade him, make him feel as shitty and invalid as possible because what straight boy fucks himself at home, but he says nothing. Tyler catches sight of the smirk on his face though, and it earns him a half-hearted kick in the shin.

"Don't think about me." He hisses. Josh nods, but he does because he can't picture anything else besides him and stores the image away for later, when he's alone and needs it.

Aftter that, he spaces out again, mind running off somewhere to get high on ecstasy and he loses control of his body, but Josh can still watch from the control room in his head. He can appreciate how Tyler is vocal. All of the whines and moans no girl he fucks gets to hear because no girl can fuck him like Josh does, doesn't deserve it. All of the faces he makes, the way his thighs tremble and jump under Josh's touch, the red crevasses his nails carve into the pale glacier of his back; no one gets to experience that but Josh. He works for it. And _fuck_ , do straight boys know how to reward. 

By the time they finish, with Josh's name rolling off Tyler's tongue in a choked out whimper and Josh replying with a groan, they're exhausted and sweaty and he still can't get over how Tyler is such a good lay and no one knows about it. Josh feels privileged tonight.

Tyler looks like he's having mixed feelings, probably starting to sober up and think straight. Should he stay, try to score round two and put himself to misery? Or leave and call back when he needs him like usual? Does he _want_ this to become usual again? The decision is easy.

Josh slowly comes back from euphoria, watches Tyler dress himself and leave, but he lingers at the door and that's how Josh can tell he'll be back. The regret and realization of what he'd done had been evident, but the way Tyler's fingers drifted down to his hip to press painfully into the forming bruise beginning to blossom to the surface, maybe wondering how he'll hide it from his girlfriend if he wants to hide it at all; it's a purpling trophy, but no one would cherish it as much as he did. He has concealer, but it won't conceal the ache he'll feel when someone's hand presses too roughly into the skin, when he stands up too fast in school and hits it on the desk corner, when the waist of his jeans are too tight and cut into it. He'll still feel the pain in the shape of fingerprints. He'll always think of him. He'll always want him.

When he treks downstairs and into the mist outside, beginning the walk home, he realizes he needs that pain. He needs that reminder. He needs that stupid queer teenager lying naked on his bed in the dark. He needs the sex. He needs the flat chest and the scruff and the broad shoulders and the dick and the raw _male_ of it all.

 _But I'm straight._

_I'm straight._

"Joshua Dun is a disease." Tyler declares loudly to the sidewalk, scowling at the dark street, but he's starting to think maybe he's not as straight as he thought he was. 

Maybe he's the one on the leash after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this chapter is not good enough it's not worthy it's not proofread very well and i wrote half of it in a walmart parking lot under the stare of an angry white grandpa  
> leave kudos if u liked it and comment, tell me about mistakes (other than the entire thing) and find me on ig for aesthetics: quinntalkstoomuch  
> i lov u guys thanks for reading my. stories and commenting <3  
> the next chapter will probably be betTER I PROMISE just bare with me hhhh  
> big thank you to belicata, MediocreAtBest, and whereisyourmeme for giving me inspiration to keep writing this fresh hell honestly ily


End file.
